Here’s My Story: You Have Reached Your Destination

Mr. Zalman Roth

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I grew up in Venice Beach, Los Angeles, in a traditional Jewish family. My parents were both Holocaust survivors who came from religious homes in Russia, but who led a less observant life in America. I guess it was the West Coast influence. I myself was a happy go-lucky young man who enjoyed surfing and sports and all that life near the Pacific Ocean had to offer.

After two years of college, which I did not enjoy, I decided — in the summer of 1968 — to drive across the country, camping on the way to save money. After that, I was going to travel on to Russia and end up in Israel. That was my plan, but an encounter with the Rebbe changed all that — it changed me and the course of my life forever.

As funny as it may sound, that turn of events was set in motion because I had to use the bathroom. Towards the end of my cross-country journey, I had arrived in Brooklyn and, looking around, I saw a building adorned with the Star of David, which I assumed must be a synagogue. I figured they wouldn’t mind me using their bathroom and so I walked in. Nobody bothered me, but as I was leaving, a very nice fellow came up to me and asked who I was. After I told him my story and that I was on my way to Russia and Israel, he invited me to join the afternoon prayers. I accepted his offer; afterwards, he said to me, “You’ve got to meet the Rebbe.” I had no idea who he was talking about, but I had time and I enjoyed meeting new people, so I said, “Okay, let’s go check him out.”

We walked across the street — Eastern Parkway — and into a building that turned out to be the Chabad Headquarters, 770. Over there, everybody had big beards like the hippies in LA, and they were very friendly to me. I felt comfortable with them; they seemed like my kind of people. After a while, they said that the Rebbe was about to pray — I guess it was the evening prayer — and that I should join. I hadn’t prayed for most of my life and here I was about to pray for a second time in one day!

We went upstairs to a room where I saw this beautiful man surrounded by his chasidim. I sensed that he was a wise man, a sage, and I felt a closeness, a connection. When the service was over, and he was passing by me, I gave him the “peace sign,” and he responded with a warm smile.
That’s how I first met the Rebbe.

Next thing you know, one of the nice fellows from 770 put me up for the night — which I really appreciated, as I had been sleeping outdoors all the way across the country and it was nice to sleep in a bed for a change — and then he invited me to a party. I was very happy to go. I imagined rock music, girls, dancing, and so I was very surprised to be ushered into a hall set up with bleachers all around on which sat what seemed like a thousand guys. This was a farbrengen, my first. They sang soulful niggunim, and the Rebbe spoke at length, and I enjoyed the experience very much.

The next invitation I got was to join in some Torah learning, and that’s how I ended up in a Chabad yeshivah for beginners — Hadar HaTorah. The teaching spoke to me, and the warmth and friendliness made it even more enjoyable, though there were challenges to be sure. Going from a free-wheeling lifestyle to one governed by strict religious rules was not easy. But it was deeply meaningful, and it made me forget my travel plans altogether.

The months flew by, and Passover approached. The yeshivah was closing, as most guys would be leaving to spend the holiday with their families. I was concerned about returning to California, since I had been keeping Torah all this time and I wasn’t sure how I would be able to do that in my parents’ non-observant home.

As it happened, my birthday was coming up, and in keeping with the yeshivah tradition, I was granted a private audience with the Rebbe for the occasion. I took the opportunity to ask the Rebbe: “Is going home the right thing for me to do? Will I be okay there?”

In answer to my question, the Rebbe said that I needed to find out whether, in the vicinity of my parents’ home, there were Chabad rabbis who would help me keep Passover “the way it is supposed to be kept,” like I had learned in the yeshivah. If so, then I should go home.

To find that out, the Rebbe recommended three avenues — making a long-distance call to my parents, or sending them a telegram via Western Union, or sending them something called an AirGram, which was a letter by special delivery. I know this sounds strange today, but I am talking about 1969 — before there was a Chabad House in every neighborhood, and before there were cellphones and the internet. Back then, a phone call from New York to California was considered long-distance and cost something like $3 for just five minutes (that’s $25 in today’s dollars)!

After receiving his blessings for success, I walked out. It must have been about two in the morning, but I decided to act immediately on the Rebbe’s advice. Across the street, there was a payphone, and although I wasn’t sure I had enough change for the call, I decided to give it a try. I picked up the receiver and even before I put any coins into the slot, I heard a man saying, “Hello, hello, hello!” I asked, “Who is this?” The man answered, “This is Rabbi Shlomo Cunin from Los Angeles. I’m trying to reach 770.”

My knees almost buckled. I simply couldn’t believe it. This was the very person who could help me with my visit to my parents!

“Man, do I have to talk to you!” I said, and I told him what had just transpired with the Rebbe. Rabbi Cunin had recently opened the first Chabad House, at the University of California in Los Angeles, and he immediately offered to do whatever was necessary. And he did. He came over with a couple of guys to my parents’ house and they made their kitchen kosher.

Everything turned out just how it was supposed to. The Rebbe’s advice was that I make the effort — make a long-distance call, or send a telegram, or send an AirGram. I chose the first option and everything went forward so smoothly it was almost miraculous.

When it was time for Sukkot, I faced the same problem. Should I go home? My parents never had a sukkah but I wanted to help them build one. So I went to see the Rebbe again, and he gave me a blessing that I should be successful in building a proper sukkah in LA. And he added, “Make sure you get the daled minim,” meaning the four species — the palm frond, the willow, the myrtle and the citron — which are used for the mitzvah of the holiday. “Go home and it will be nice.” And it was.

I feel that I was very blessed to have encountered the Rebbe. What would have happened to me if, instead, I had followed through with my plan and traveled to Soviet Russia? I shudder to think.

So I am beyond grateful that I met him, and that he and his chasidim helped me turn my life in the right direction.

Mr. Zalman Roth owns a plumbing business in Los Angeles. He and his wife Esther were both interviewed in January 2025.